In the Debris
by DDG
Summary: *On Hold* “Nostalgia,” he muttered, glaring down at the wreckage. “ . . . nostalgia. It only leads to. . . .”
1. An ocelot never lets his prey escape

**Disclaimer:** It's definitely not mine. The Patriots own Metal Gear Solid, duh.

**------------------------------------------------------------**  
In the Debris  
**PROLOGUE**  
"_An ocelot never lets his prey escape."_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**

It still smelled like gunpowder. Even from all the way up here he could still smell the death that radiated from the wreckage. He couldn't even remember how long it had been since the C3 had blown the place sky high. Volgin crashing around in Shagohod didn't help to keep the parts of the fortress the blast hadn't effected intact. The bodies of the dead soldiers were still there; he could see them plainly from here. Someone had piled them up in one big heap and left them for the animals to feed from.

Smoke still drifted up from the debris of Groznyj Grad. Slowly, the gray funnels of ash floated up into the cloudless blue sky and were blown away by the wind. The carnage that had took place at the fortress was still fresh in Big Boss', Jack's, memory. He could still feel the electricity from "Thunderbolt"'s attacks surging through him.

"_Shoot him!" Electricity travels along each of the crevice-like scars on Colonel Volgin's body as he speaks, angrily gesturing toward the man standing in a low stance nearby, ready to use close quarters combat at any given moment on the Colonel. The young, blond, Russian standing on a catwalk above the battlefield simply stands his ground, keeping a blank face. "Do you hear me," Volgin says, anger clear in his voice. "I said shoot him!" The air crackles around the Colonel as his temper flares._

_The Ocelot Unit commander's lips twitch as he holds back a grin. "Sorry Colonel. I'm afraid I can't do that," he states, shrugging one shoulder and giving Volgin a look of forced pity._

"_What do you mean," says Volgin, a blue, electric charge jumping between the fingers of his hand, still pointed at his adversary, Naked Snake, "you can't?"_

_The grin escapes. "I made a promise to The Boss."_

_Volgin's hand drops to his side, the electricity that had gathered in it jumping to his leg with a crack. "Silence!" he rages, the anger boiling inside of him, "I am your commanding officer!"_

_To defy these words said by his so-called, "commanding officer", Ocelot pulls one of his Colt Single Action Army Revolvers from a holster and fires upon Volgin. Pulsating blue electricity surrounds the GRU commander. An electromagnetic field deflects the bullet shot by Major Ocelot._

"_Are you questioning my authority?" Volgin glares at his fellow Russian, knowing the obvious answer to the question._

_Ocelot narrows his eyes and says, "Fight like a man, Volgin," in a demanding, on the verge of commanding, voice._

_Something troubles the Colonel as he hears the words spoken. His glaring falters for a moment, just one moment, hardly a tenth of a second, the falter being something only a trained eye, or someone who was looking for it, would spot, before returning with more intensity than before as he speaks, "Volgin . . . ?" questioning Ocelot's use of his superior officer's name, rather than his rank._

_A loudspeaker fizzles somewhere in the room. "Emergency!" it blares, the announcer hiding the fear in his voice, "Explosives have been detected. All non-EOD personnel must evacuate immediately."_

_The Colonel growls, turning his gaze to Snake. "Ocelot," he says, "find those bombs!" Ocelot seems to laugh at Volgin's words._

"_Repeat. Explosives have been detected. All non-EOD personnel must evacuate immediately."_

_Volgin glowers at Snake, as the CIA agent sidesteps, about to begin a pre-close quarters combat shuffle. "Move it!" commands the Colonel, watching Snake like a hawk._

_Ocelot brings both his hands up to the middle of his chest, the Single Action Army Revolver having been returned to its proper place, and gestured to Snake, his forefingers pointing at Snake, each hand taking the shape of a gun and then pulling back in mock firing. The young Russian swiftly walks away down the catwalk and out of sight._

_Volgin watches from the corner of his eye as Ocelot walks away. Snake takes the opportunity and rushes forward, grabbing Volgin's arm, twisting it and then throwing him to the ground. The knife in Snake's hand lashes out, ripping open Volgin's shirt. Crimson blood seeps from the cut created beneath the torn fabric and soaks the rest of the shirt._

"_Ready for some more, Snake?" Volgin questions, jumping to his feet with surprising quickness for a man of his size. Blue current surges around his hands as he brings his fist back, the punch aimed at Snake's head . . . ._

"Nostalgia," he muttered. "Fuck nostalgia. It only leads to . . . ." Jack trailed off as he continued to stare out over the remains of Groznyj Grad. "Pain" was going to be his next word but another memory played itself out in his mind.

_He woke up alone, which was odd considering he was sure he'd fallen asleep next to the spy who had been tempting him since he'd met up with her at the Rassvet Factory. He'd met EVA when he'd been ordered to meet ADAM. Of course, he had ended up meeting both of them that night. Well, he'd met ADAM for the second time . . . Adamska. Major Ocelot, commander of the Ocelot unit. It hadn't taken all that long for Snake to realize who ADAM was . . . but nothing regarding Ocelot's involvement pieced together afterwards. Not like after . . . ._

_Snake stood and approached a table, spotting a small, black cassette tape lying next to a player. He picked up the tape, eyeing it closely before putting it into the player and pressing the large "play" button. What followed on that tiny piece of plastic and magnetic strips explained a lot to Snake, tied up a few loose ends so to speak._

_After the tape had finished, self-destructing once its course had been run, Snake sat back and pondered the situation, musing at the sudden grief he felt at EVA's abandoning him._

Jack smiled to himself, though he wasn't quite sure why. He didn't feel remotely happy or enthusiastic. Didn't have any reason at all to smile. He just did. "Nostalgia leads to fucking pain. . . ." There were plenty other things that nostalgia could lead to: grief, sadness, happiness . . . but ultimately, to Snake, it all led to pain . . . eventually. Even nostalgia that brought a sense of relief would lead to the pain that just because it's all over now, doesn't mean some shit like this isn't going to happen again. Sooner or later, somebody's going to fuck up and everything's going to come crashing down.

"Oh, there's nothing like _happy _memories in the morning, is there . . . John?"

Jack tensed at the voice. He spun around, reaching for the knife sheathed on his belt. The blond Russian shook his head at Jack's actions. "Please, please. We're not enemies . . . that is, unless . . . you want us to be?"

This time, Big Boss knew why he was smiling. Ocelot, or Adamska, looked up to Snake . . . as a worthy adversary. The two had faced off on numerous occasions, yet Snake had beaten Ocelot on each. Fighting with the young Major had been something of a game . . . for both of them.

Now calm, Jack stood to face Adamska, nodding slightly at him. The chain that had once been attached to a bullet that had jammed in Ocelot's handgun during their first meeting was still around the man's neck, though nothing was on the end of it now. Just a plain metal chain. It was understandable that Ocelot hadn't or just couldn't find anything to replace the bullet that had once hung there . . . Jack scratched his chest and while doing so, pushed a chain similar to Ocelot's under his coat. On the end of said chain hung the bullet that Jack had not fired during that fateful battle in the WIG.

Adamska tilted his head slightly to the side, spotting a holster attached to Jack's belt. A Colt Single Action Army Revolver sat between the two leather sides of the holster. Ocelot smirked slightly, satisfied that _he_, Ocelot, had made an impression on Big Boss and that Big Boss had not just made an impression on Ocelot.

It was clear that the two respected one another, despite the amount of skill level one or the other had, whether one had trained under The Boss herself or whether the other one was merely the son of the legendary Cobra Unit leader. Equal respect, a silent and mutual understanding.

The Russian nodded in the direction of the revolver. "I see you kept it."

"Did you expect me to throw it out? It's a nice gun."

Ocelot's face retained its smirk. "Of course I believed that you would keep it . . . but not that you would keep it so close to you."

The CIA agent let out a small chuckle. "I thought it would be good to bring here . . . for reminiscent purposes."

"I guess you didn't exactly get the nostalgia you wanted?"

"It's kind of hard to get the right nostalgia," Jack mused, "standing here above this place."

"It reeks." Ocelot shook his head in disgust. "That Davy Crockett may have decimated Groznyj Grad, but the place . . . its stench . . . ."

"It still lingers." The body pile that Big Boss has spotted earlier came to his mind. The Davy Crockett that The Boss had fired into Groznyj Grad had leveled the base and probably destroyed most bodies lying beneath the rubble from the earlier explosions with it, which meant that the bodies must have been those who were hiding in the outlying areas and had been killed by the nuclear radiation.

It made sense. From this distance most of the bodies seemed unscathed while seemingly bodies from the firefighting that had ensued after blasting the Main Wing would be bloody, riddled with bullet holes and completely unrecognizable.

"How is the spy, Tatyana?"

Jack was startled by the question. He'd almost completely forgot about EVA after thinking about the death that was Groznyj Grad. "I wouldn't know," he answered, staring at the shack behind Adamska. It was in there that EVA had given Snake the key to enter the underground tunnel leading to Groznyj Grad.

"How much _do_ you know?" Ocelot questioned, the information pertinent for him to further talk with Big Boss. There was no doubt in either's mind that Ocelot knew much more than Big Boss did.

"Enough," Jack replied. "About what The Boss did . . . all for the United States of America and how EVA was a spy from China, sent in to retrieve the Philosopher's Legacy. She explained it all. . . ."

Ocelot mentally smiled, now knowing the extent of the CIA agent's knowledge. He didn't know about the little trick that had been played on EVA and China . . . and there was no way he knew who Ocelot was really affiliated with. The Boss had known . . . she had known about everything that happened around her, even the things that went unsaid. But the man who had bested her did _not_ know . . . and may very well never know, unless . . .

. . . of course Ocelot could tell him, but . . . .

The Russian observed as the American turned around and walked up to the cliff's edge.

_No, not now,_ thought Ocelot, watching Jack as stared into space, _it's too early. Soon. He'll learn soon enough . . . ._

"Tell me, John," Adamska began. He received a sort-of grunt from the other man in recognition. "How did she tell you?"

Jack sighed, taking a moment to reflect over waking up . . . alone and finding a tape that explained everything. "A tape," he finally murmured.

Ocelot's eyes widened before narrowing in rage. _That bitch,_ he though bitterly, _she couldn't even explain things to him in person! It was such a simple thing to do . . . but then, she would never have had her chance to escape to China, would she?_ Ocelot pondered while Big Boss stared.

"When I woke up . . . she was gone. I guess it was for the best, I mean . . . it would have been . . ." he faltered and stared for a moment before picking back up, " . . . hard."

The young Major nodded in understanding. "Too difficult a goodbye?" His eyes were still narrowed in rage and he was surprised he kept the fury from his voice. He was hoping like hell that Snake wouldn't turn around and spot his expression.

Big Boss didn't respond. There was no need to.

Silence reigned between the two as Ocelot slumped onto the ground somewhere to Snake's left. The Major leaned back into the grass, not really giving a shit whether or not his uniform had grass stains on it afterwards. Its not like he really had a unit to command anymore. Of his entire unit there was himself and three others who had survived the pandemonium at Groznyj Grad and the gunfights and chases after it. Three lousy soldiers . . . and it was just a uniform. Not to mention, Ocelot could demand respect from those three soldiers no matter how he looked. It was all in the tone of voice, the expression and bodily actions.

He'd had worse stains on his uniform than grass stains anyway . . . like that drop of tartar sauce that just wouldn't go away. He'd hidden the sauce from everyone at Groznyj Grad when food supplies were low and then he'd finally captured some fish while out on a scouting mission only to spill the tartar sauce all over his uniform. The pants had been ruined but he'd salvaged the shirt and tried like hell to convince everyone that it was a blood stain . . . a measly blood stain that refused to leave.

A very, very dark blood stain.

And, of course, someone had the brilliant idea to _smell_ the stain . . . while the shirt was currently being worn by Ocelot. This schemer happened to be Major Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov who ended up on the receiving end of Ocelot's fist . . . after which Ocelot scampered off, realizing just who he had knocked senseless.

Fortunately, Raikov said nothing about the incident to Colonel Volgin. Perhaps to make sure that Volgin didn't begin to think that Ocelot was leading Raikov on in any way or that Raikov was falling for anyone else . . . neither Ocelot nor Raikov wanted to be near Volgin when he was angry. Raikov may have been the Colonel's boyfriend, but obviously Volgin kept his rage out of the bedroom or else Raikov would've been dead a long time ago.

The whiny, girly voice of his fellow Major clearly rang out in Ocelot's head. He shook it fiercely, trying to get rid of the memory, never wanting to meet him ever again. It was all he could do to try and remember whether or not Snake had murdered Raikov when stealing his uniform or merely knocked the Major out for a little while . . . Ocelot didn't recall ever hearing or seeing Raikov after Volgin's torture session with Snake, so he was going with the former.

"I wonder," said Jack, still staring off into nowhere, "how is that man . . . Major . . . Ivan. Ivan Raideno . . . something."

Ocelot felt as if he'd just ate one of those rations that had been provided during the food shortage. "Major Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov?" he said warily.

Big Boss nodded. "Yeah. That guy."

His worst fears were confirmed. The pansy who went around punching everyone, whether they deserved it or not, had indeed, _not_ been killed by Ocelot's idol. "I, well, I'm not sure," responded Ocelot, now praying that Raikov had been killed by the nuclear fallout. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," was the reply.

_John . . . is doing just a little too much thinking,_ Ocelot mused. _Perhaps . . . yes._

"John," Big Boss turned his head to look at the Russian, "there's something we must discuss."

The American furrowed his brow, eyeing the Russian cautiously. He was suspicious . . . of something. Reminiscing wasn't the only thing he had been doing. A few moments passed before Jack said, "Of course, Major Ocelot."

Ocelot's face was, luckily, obscured from Jack's view by the angle at which Ocelot laid on the grass, or else Jack would have seen the slight blush that crept onto Ocelot's face. To be called "Major Ocelot" by his idol . . . an honor, an undeserved honor. "However," said the Ocelot commander, "this place," he gestured toward the building and then toward the below rubble of Groznyj Grad, "is not suitable for speaking of such matters."

"I see," answered Jack, furrowing his brow further, seeing how secretive the matter that Ocelot wished to discuss was.

"I suggest . . . that we," Ocelot hesitated, not wanting to suggest what he was going to suggest for fear that his idol may take it the wrong way, "go back to America and discuss the matter . . . at my home."

Something like a smile flitted across Snake's mouth for an instant, but was gone the next. Ocelot lived in America, not Russia as Snake had previously believed, thinking that Ocelot was double-crossing Krushchev and Colonel Volgin when Ocelot may have very well been triple-crossing . . . it was an interesting development.

A look of terror appeared on Ocelot's face. He was sitting up now and in full view of Snake. "You didn't . . . take that the wrong way, did you?" he questioned, more nervous than he ever had been before.

"The wrong way? What're you talking about?"

"Oh, never mind then." Quickly standing and looking the opposite way, Ocelot added, "My men have a helicopter waiting for me down in the ruins," —Jack glanced at Groznyj Grad— "No, not those ruins, the _other_ ruins," the Major nodded in the direction of the shack, meaning the ruins where the underground tunnel to Groznyj Grad was located. "They have a helicopter waiting for me there. I suggest that you accompany me and we'll fly to the nearest airport, then get on a flight to New York . . . ."

_So, Ocelot lives in New York, huh,_ thought Big Boss. _I can't seem to imagine him walking around New York looking like he does, though._

"Sounds good to me, Adamska. Not like I had any other plans."

**------------------------------------------------------------  
END PROLOGUE**  
"_An ocelot never lets his prey escape."_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**


	2. What is that stance? That gun?

**------------------------------------------------------------**  
In the Debris  
**CHAPTER 1**  
"_What is that stance? That gun?"_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**

Walking into that room was like walking into a dream you never want to wake up from. The time that he spent within the confines of the room, just talking with EVA about the mission at hand and what was going to happen . . . it had been a whole lot better than rushing back out into the ruins and continuing on with the mission as soon as possible would have been. He wished now that he could have thought of something else to say or to ask, to stall EVA, to hear her voice just a little more, to watch her mouth move as she spoke.

Jack walked up to the dusty table in the corner and knelt down. Ocelot stopped in the middle of the room to watch as his former enemy-now-turned-comrade pulled a pair of tall, dull gray, military-style boots out from under the table. Jack had to choke back the emotion that was overcoming him. He did love EVA . . . even if she had left him the way that she had and turned out to be a spy from China. The boots . . . they were the boots that EVA had left here that day. The one's she had kicked under the table when Snake had entered the room.

She'd never came back for the boots. He could understand why; there wasn't much reason left to. By the time she probably could have left Groznyj Grad after returning from giving Snake the key to the underground entrance, she was spending that short freedom getting ready for the final showdown . . . no time to worry whether or not she was wearing the right boots anymore. The mistake had been made and no one had killed her yet for said mistake. Things were obviously fine. Ocelot had probably been the only one to notice the different boots anyway.

Now the boots were the only thing he had left of EVA that wasn't a memory of her voice, or her smell, or her touch.

Ocelot looked the boots over, recognizing them instantly as the one's that EVA had worn as Tatyana. Realizing that Big Boss must be reminiscing again, the Major didn't want to disturb him but Ocelot also didn't want to stay here longer than he had to. He'd already been wandering around the forests gathering up his remaining Ocelot Unit members for the past few days. All that wandering had ruined his second-to-last uniform . . . he was now wearing his last. The one with the tartar stain on the shirt.

Something didn't quite . . . feel right about Groznyj Grad. It was destroyed, but there was still some kind of powerful force emanating from its rubble. Ocelot would do anything to get away from the rubble of Groznyj Grad as quickly as possible.

"John," Ocelot started, "I really believe we should be going. . . ." he finished, a hint of urgency carrying in his voice.

Jack spotted hint and stood, clutching the boots in his arms. "Alright. Sorry about that. I got a little . . . lost."

"It happens to the best of us." Jack nodded in agreement and followed Ocelot as the Russian pushed open the door opposite the one they had just used to enter the shack, and walked down the stairs.

Less than a minute later, they had boarded the helicopter, two of the three remaining Ocelot Unit members sitting in seats across from Adamska and Jack with the third piloting the helicopter.

"We're really lucky," the taller of the two sitting in back with Adamska and Jack began, "that Vitaly survived or else we'd never get out of here."

Jack questioned him. "Why's that?"

"Vitaly is one of only three in our unit who could pilot an aircraft," the soldier stated, staring oddly at Jack. Jack stared back for a moment before scanning the soldier's uniform for his rank and his name tag. The uniform was ripped in numerous places and strips had been torn off here and there to wrap around injuries on his body but amazingly, the patch stating his last name had remained in tact. "Petronovich" was stitched in capital, black letters. Other patches on the soldier's uniform were missing, making it difficult for Jack to identify his rank.

The soldier sitting beside him was quietly staring out one of the helicopter's two small windows. There was a makeshift splint on his right arm; strips of material from a fellow soldier's shirt was wrapped around two thick branches on either side of his forearm, tightly tied so as not to come loose unexpectedly. A sling wrapped around the arm and over his shoulder to keep the arm elevated. The name tag on his shirt was slightly battered: it was covered in dirt and blood and the stitching keeping it connected to the shirt was pulling apart but the name was still readable. "Koveskny" was the soldier's surname.

Koveskny and Petronovich weren't actually stitched into the patches, but rather those two names in Russian. Ковесни and Петронович were what was seen on the patches, but translated the words read "Koveskny" and "Petronovich".

Snake elbowed Ocelot lightly and nodded towards Vitaly in the cockpit. "Vitaly . . . what's his last name?"

The Ocelot unit commander answered quickly. "Tselinodov," he informed Jack.

"Major," Koveskny said, startling the other occupants of the helicopter who had assumed that the silence having befallen them after Ocelot told Jack Vitaly's last name was to remain until they reached an airport.

Ocelot nodded to the silent soldier. "What is it, Koveskny?"

"Why is . . . that man . . . was he not . . ."

"Who, John?" — Koveskny nodded — "He may have been our enemy at one point in time but he is no longer. This is all you need to know at present." Koveskny returned to staring back out of the window and silence, once again, reigned over the helicopter passengers.

"We'll be landing at Kalai-khumb airport in approximately ten minutes," announced Vitaly, the silence again disturbed.

Ocelot nodded absently in response, glancing around the interior of the helicopter and observing more intently how close the thing was to falling apart. Vitaly had mentioned something about barely being able to salvage it and then later commenting after he'd flown it, how he was surprised it had actually stayed airborne and not been ripped apart in the winds.

While their unit commander was looking around the helicopter, Koveskny and Petronovich were introducing themselves properly to Big Boss.

Koveskny held out his left hand to Snake. The CIA agent shook the Ocelot's hand. "I'm Captain Kazimir Koveskny of the Ocelot Unit," the injured Captain stated, breaking the handshake with Snake to salute him. Snake raised his hand and touched his forehead, bringing his hand back down slightly in a half-salute.

Petronovich, who had use of both his arms, reached over and shook hands with Snake while saluting. "Specialist Lev Petronovich of the Ocelot Unit," said Petronovich as Snake did another half salute and broke the handshake.

"Specialist, huh?" questioned Jack. "What do you specialize in?"

"Long-range combat, though I'm just as skilled in close-range. I didn't see much action while we were here."

Snake nodded. "Your sniper rifle collected some dust, then?"

Lev laughed. "Yeah, it did." He smiled at the CIA agent, warming up to the former enemy already. "Say, you speak Russian quite well. Where did you learn it?"

"Ot moyego nastavnika."

"Your mentor?" Petronovich took a moment to think, trying to remember what his commander had said about Snake's mentor. "Ah, The Boss, right?"

Big Boss blinked away a single tear. "Yeah, that's right.

Vitaly, the pilot, turned his head to look back at Snake for a moment before turning back to the front of the cockpit. He raised his right hand and did a small salute in the air for Snake to see. "Name's Vitaly Tselinodov. Senior Lieutenant of the Ocelot Unit." Snake didn't make any move to salute back; Vitaly wouldn't have seen it anyway.

Inhaling deeply, Jack introduced himself, "Big Boss."

Ocelot laughed. "Well, _Big Boss_, I'm sure the CIA would be happy that you acknowledge the name given to you."

Big Boss slowly turned his head to look at Ocelot. "How do you — "

"Soon, John. A few more hours. You can wait that long . . . can't you?"

Jack looked away. He could wait a few more hours. . . .

**------------------------------------**

"Sir!" Vitaly, Petronovich and Koveskny stood in a line, saluting their commander. Ocelot walked three steps forward, leaving two feet of space between him and the Ocelots.

Adamska's hand moved up to his forehead in a salute, his feet slid together and he stood up straight before pulling his hand downwards. The last of the Ocelot unit repeated the procedure. "Ocelot unit," Ocelot nodded to each man, "you are hereby . . . dismissed." He spun around on his heel and walked swiftly back to where Jack stood waiting for him. The Ocelots headed off in the opposite direction, back toward the helicopter they'd arrived in.

"Well, John, I suppose its time to head to the United States, wouldn't you say?"

Jack didn't respond. He stared off into the distance, spotting the familiar mountain range where Tselinoyarsk is located.

**------------------------------------**

"What?"

"It was a fake."

"You . . . you're . . . kidding, right?"

"No." The Chinese military General paced back and forth across the floor of his office. A woman with blond hair sat in a chair in front of his desk.

Her eyes were wide with fear. "What's going to — "

"Happen to you?" The woman nods. "A demotion is in order. We do not tolerate failure and your's is no exception."

The woman bows her head in shame as the General continues. "You will no longer be an undercover agent for the Philosopher's . . . for all we're concerned, the Philosophers no longer exist. Instead, you will be assigned to a post in Hanoi as a foot soldier. A file will be readied by the end of the day with details."

Standing, the woman salutes. The General glowers at her, but salutes all the same. "Dismissed, Lance Corporal Lian Fang."

The newly demoted Lance Corporal Lian Fang hurried from the General's office.

**------------------------------------**

The sky was blackening with an approaching storm. Jack stared sullenly out the window, hardly blinking as he watched lightning bolts lash out from the clouds in the distance. The storm wasbringing on memories . . . memories he didn't want to think about. Memories from years and years ago and memories still fresh in his mind.

The Sorrow's words entered his thoughts. "Sad, so sad," he had said . . . it _was_ sad. But then again . . . _what_ was so sad? Was it sad that the tiniest thing sparked unwanted memories for Jack? Memories that he really wished he could forget? Or was it sad that . . . he was dwelling on the past, trying to forget what had happened when he should just accept it and move on?

"_Jack, do you remember what we discussed yesterday?"_

"_Of course. Disarm, disable and dismantle."_

"_Yes. Now, Jack, demonstrate. I want you to attack me with everything you have. Disarm me, knock me senseless and then dismantle my weapon."_

He'd never been able to do it. He got up to disarming The Boss, and then she would retaliate too fast for Jack to incapacitate her. He would always end up thrown on the ground, groaning in pain and The Boss would reprimand him for it. It didn't help that it had started raining a few minutes earlier that first day they'd practiced that technique, but the weather conditions didn't matter . . . whether they were favorable or not, The Boss and Jack were going to be out developing close quarters combat.

"_How are you supposed to help in the creation of close quarters combat if you can't even use it effectively against me?"_

"_Boss, I'm — "_

"_Get up, Jack. Now try again. Remember: disarm, disable, dismantle."_

Jack's back was aching. His entire body was remembering the pain it had felt at that time . . . The Boss had been cruel while they were creating close quarters combat together, but in the end, Jack had benefitted. He may not have been able to ever defeat The Boss using close quarters combat against her, but he did know all of the evasive, defensive and offensive actions of the combat style they had developed together. She had used all of the moves more effectively than Jack ever could . . . but in time, Jack knew that he would learn to use them just as well as she had.

A lightning bolt raced across the sky and another memory came to Jack's mind.

_Thunder booms. "Who's afraid of a little thunder?" Lightning strikes from the sky and smites the electrically charged Russian. The bullets surrounding his body explode as he is electrocuted and catches fire._

"_Fried by a bolt of lightning," Snake muses, "a fitting end. It's finally over."_

The death of Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin was most definitely a favor to the world. Jack felt no remorse over his death . . . definitely not.

"John," Ocelot was staring at Jack with a curious look on his features. "Something bothering you?"

Jack glanced at Ocelot, but quickly turned back to the window. "No."

Ocelot looked away, somehow understanding that Jack didn't want to talk about it. _More nostalgia, maybe?_ Multiple bursts of lightning arced across the sky as Ocelot looked out the window next to the seats ahead of Jack and himself. The young Russian was suddenly reminded of Volgin causing his eyes to involuntarily narrow.

"John," the twenty year-old was interrupting Jack's thoughts again. "You did . . . kill Volgin, right?"

The CIA agent was eyeing Adamska funny. One eyebrow was raised slightly higher than the other and a look of almost complete shock crossed the rest of his face. "Me? No, I didn't kill him."

Ocelot's jaw dropped. "You mean he's — "

Jack laughed. "No! He's dead alright. Fried by a bolt of lightning."

Now Ocelot was laughing. "Now I understand."

"I did help him along a little though . . . wore him out a bit."

"As long as he's dead. . . ."

"Oh, he's dead." The two ceased talking after receiving odd stares from nearby passengers of the airliner. Jack went back to staring out the window and Ocelot leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes in an attempt to take a nap.

**------------------------------------**

It was a welcome change. Being back in a city, surrounded by people, buildings and stores with prepackaged food. Not in the jungle surrounded by guards armed with assault rifles and grenades, being forced to eat whatever animals he came across. Jack took in a breath and screwed his face up in disdain. The air smelled horrible; maybe he did prefer the jungle over this. He'd been back in the United States for a week before he'd traveled back to Tselinoyarsk, but he hadn't been in New York. He'd been down south, at Langley, sitting alone in his quaint little house just outside a small patch of woods. It had been then, when he was taking a walk through the woods, that he had suddenly wanted to return to Tselinoyarsk . . . one last time.

Adamska lightly punched Jack on the chest, bringing him back down to Earth. "John, come on. My apartment is only a block away and what we have to talk about is very important. It cannot wait much longer."

Jack realized Ocelot's hurry; they were both very out of place in their military attire; Jack had been wearing his field uniform when he'd flown to Tselinoyarsk and Ocelot was still in his. The two were attracting a lot of attention.

Quickly, the two men walked the last block to Ocelot's apartment.

**---**

"John, what I have to tell you is top secret information."

Jack nodded. "Don't worry; I'm used to hearing that."

"Good. Ah, where should I start? Well, for one, I've been triple-crossing the Soviet Union."

"Triple-crossing?"

"Yes. I've been working for the KGB, GRU and the American Philosophers."

"That must have been pretty hard to do."

"Of course. My only true alliance lies with the Philosophers. They say I was born on the beaches of Normandy, the son of some great soldier or legendary hero."

Big Boss nods, acknowledging the information, having heard it before and knowing just who his mother and father were. He completely remembered EVA's words.

"_That's what I heard. They say that when they stitched her up, the scar was shaped like a snake."_

"_Well, that's battlefield medicine for you. What about his father, this legendary hero?"_

"_He didn't tell me. I don't think Ocelot's ever met his parents."_

He'd been so naive at that time. Immediately jumping to the conclusion that . . . the father was the legendary hero when it was really . . . the mother. He'd seen the scar for himself and it had been then that he'd realized.

"_I don't think Ocelot's ever met his parents."_

He had. At least . . . his mother, anyway, though he never knew it.

Ocelot was still talking. ". . . I've never met my parents and no one has ever told me who they are. But that's beside the point." Ocelot cleared his throat. "The day that you met the president in Langley, I was there."

"_You are above even The Boss. I hereby award you the title of Big Boss." Big Boss salutes the president after a medal is pinned to his shirt._

"_You are a true patriot." The president and Big Boss shake hands while Big Boss' gaze wanders. He stares out a window and sees . . . _no,_ he says to himself, _that can't be . . .

. . . Ocelot.

"I was watching, outside the window."

Jack grunts. "Yeah. I saw you. I didn't think it was you at first, but . . . it really was."

"You know about The Boss' mission, correct?"

"Of course."

"She was sent in to retrieve the Philosopher's Legacy . . . and then, her entire mission had to change when Volgin shot the American warhead at the Rassvet Factory." Ocelot pauses and Jack takes the opportunity to continue the story.

"Her mission was revised and expanded . . . her mission was to be killed by her mostbeloved disciple. She was to die, known only as a traitor, so as to keep Washington's hands clean."

"The Philosopher's Legacy . . . she succeeded in retrieving it of course."

"But I thought that — "

"No. EVA was given a fake. The real Philosopher's Legacy is here, safe in the United States. But we don't have all of it. Only fifty percent has made it back."

"Where's the rest?"

"We assume the KGB has the rest of it hidden somewhere."

"Are you going back to the Soviet Union to collect the rest of the Legacy?"

Ocelot smiles slightly. "I'm under orders. I have to. In fact," Ocelot points to a plane ticket on the coffee table in front of him. "I have to fly back tonight. That is why I was insisting that we hurry when returning to the United States. I cannot wait too long. My three remaining men will report back to Brezhnev and he will soon wonder where I am if I do not return soon. It will arouse suspicion. Once I report to Brezhnev, I must report to Khrushchev."

"How long do you think it'll take to collect the rest of the Legacy?"

"I"m not sure. It depends on how well hidden Khrushchev has the Legacy. Of course . . . it will be much easier to procure the rest of it . . . with you helping, John."

"What?"

"The FOX unit is under CIA control. You are at the CIA's disposal, just as I am. If I know the Director, he will use you and everyone else within FOX to help track down the Legacy."

". . . but without our knowledge and consent, right?"

"Yes. You'll be briefed on something that is relevant to the situation you are going into and you'll have mission objectives, but your ultimate mission objective will be collecting information. I can assure you that the CIA director will question you about what kinds of things you overheard during the mission. He'll ask subtle questions and you'll hopefully have the answers he wants."

"So, what you're saying is . . . I'll be sent on a mission, with some kind of objective like . . . destroy the nuclear threat, but what I'm not supposed to know is that I'm really being sent in to do this meaningless task for the CIA so I can collect information and then relay that information to the CIA Director?"

"Yes."

". . . the Legacy . . . at what length is the CIA willing to go to get the rest of it?"

"You saw what happened to The Boss."

"_The Philosophers of today have no sense of good or evil."_

"_They have become war itself. That's how they operate."_

"_The sacrifices of war cause a shift in the times. This shift leads to renewed conflict and in turn triggers the next war. Like a nuclear chain reaction, each conflict sparks countless others, forming an endless spiral of war that continues on for eternity."_

"_By consuming me and you the Philosophers intend to keep their cycle going forever."_

"What does the CIA . . . the American Philosophers, intend to do with the Legacy?"

"Oh, well, for one . . . there's this revolutionary new nuclear attack system that a man by the name of Aleksandr Leonovitch Granin developed . . ."

"Metal Gear, the revolutionary mobile nuclear system. A bipedal tank."

"You know of it?"

"Granin and I spoke. He was crocked, but his idea was ingenious."

**---**

They had talked for a few hours now. The Philosophers had come up into the conversation every now and then, but the conversation would usually be steered elsewhere. It had got uncomfortable, near the end. They'd run out of things to talk about and it was nearing the time for Ocelot to leave.

"Well, John," he said, standing and picking up his plane ticket. He'd changed into civilian clothes at some time during one their breaks in the conversation. He'd been generous enough to lend Jack some clothes too. They were a bit tight, but it would do for the time being.

There was a bag next to the couch. Ocelot grabbed the strap and threw it over his shoulder. It was filled with fresh military attire, along with Ocelot's dismantled revolvers.

". . . I really should be going. You're welcome to stay here if you'd like."

"Nah. I really should head home."

"Until the next time I see you then. . . ."

Big Boss stood as Ocelot headed for the door. "Wait. Ocelot."

The Russian stopped and turned his head. "What is it?"

"Its about your mother and father."

Ocelot was intrigued. He turned around completely to face the other man.

"You're the son of The Boss and The Sorrow." Jack knew it was the right thing to tell the boy. He had a right to know who his mother and father were.

The blond was stunned. "What?"

**------------------------------------**

A flash of lightning across the sky, then a booming thunderclap. Gray clouds slowly advanced upon Tselinoyarsk. Two Russian men stood outside a small cabin, staring out at the landscape from the porch.

"Kuwabara, kuwabara," murmured the taller of the two. He was more than slightly charred; his skin blackened, with long, white cracks interrupting the black at odd intervals. The results of harboring ten million volts within his body. The smaller man reached out a hand to caress the other's arm, only to take it back after a loud _crack_. The electrical discharge had burnt the tips of the man's fingers.

The taller man looked down at the other as he sucked on the burnt fingertips. "There is too much static in the air because of the storm," the blackened man stated. "Touching me right now is like touching metal after rubbing your feet on the carpet."

A strong wind blew the long, blond hair out of the smaller man's face as he fearlessly placed his hand on the charred man's arm. A stronger shock traveled through his body, but he shook it off. "I don't care. It is not a pleasant feeling, much unlike the therapeutic shocks you administer during our lovemaking . . . but I will endure."

"Raikov . . . Ivan, go inside. I'll be in soon."

Raikov smiled and sauntered inside the cabin, saying with absolute concern as he did, "Don't get struck by lightning."

Volgin chuckled. "I'll say 'kuwabara' again, just for you."

**------------------------------------------------------------  
END CHAPTER 1**  
"_What is that stance? That gun?"_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Notes:**  
-I translated Koveskny and Petronovich into Russian manually . . . then later went back and double-checked with an online translator.

-Kalai-khumb is a real airport.

-Something I want to mention: Right after I wrote the word "curious" describing the way Ocelot was looking at Jack . . . the phrase, "curiosity killed the cat" immediately popped into my head XD


	3. Spread your wings and fly!

**------------------------------------------------------------  
**In the Debris  
**CHAPTER 2  
**"_Spread your wings and fly!"  
_**------------------------------------------------------------**

"What a piece of junk."

"It certainly was a waste of money wasn't it?"

Volgin snorted contemptuously. "I should have realized how idiotic Sokolov's idea was." The electric man slammed his fist into the mutilated metal of what used to be the Shagohod. "A bipedal tank was the better choice." Laughing, Volgin added, "It's too bad that fool Granin is dead now. Metal Gear . . . the revolutionary mobile nuclear attack system. A bipedal tank. . . ."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now."

Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin turned to his lover, reaching out and cupping his chin with his right hand. "That's right, Ivan."

Raikov smiled, bringing his fingers up and caressing Volgin's arm. "What do you propose we do, Yevgeny?"

Volgin took his eyes off Raikov for a moment and looked around the area. In the distance, he spotted the ruins of Groznyj Grad. To his immediate left was the fresh path leading from his and Raikov's hideaway on the mountainside. On his right, the deep canyon that came between the edge of Groznyj Grad and where he had fought with Snake and EVA. They had no means of transportation. It was either back up the mountainside to their cabin, where they could travel for a few days through the woods going down the other side of the mountain, carefully climb down the canyon wall and follow the river until they reached civilization, or they could travel through the woods off to the west until they came upon a small lake where there was bound to be a boat of some kind.

Yevgeny frowned. "Let's return to the cabin for a little while, Ivan. We'll think of a plan there."

"Would said plan happen to involve a one 'Naked Snake'?"

A malicious grin forming on his face, Volgin turned away from Raikov to stare off into the distance. "Snake? Of course. He is very important to our plans. First we have to figure out a way to get out of here however."

"Of course, Yevgeny."

**------------------------------------**

"Just hold them off for a little longer!"

"Where the fuck are the reinforcements?"

Lance Corporal Fang lifted the scope of her Dragunov SVD sniper rifle up to her right eye. Adjusting the magnification, she sighted in on the nearest rebel soldier. She took in a slow, easy breath, squeezing the trigger with the ball of her pointer finger as she let out half her breath. A patch of crimson appeared on the rebel's chest as he fell to the ground.

"Shit!" screamed another rebel. "Snipers! Fucking snipers!" Four more rebels fell to the ground as Fang's fellow snipers picked them off.

"_Fang, how's it going on your end?"_ a male voice said in the female Lance Corporal's ear via her codec.

Fang swept the area with her scope, looking for rebels. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

"_Good. Return to base immediately."_

"Yes, sir." Fang grabbed the strap of her SVD and swung the gun onto her back, carefully maneuvering down from the branch and getting a good grip on the ivy covered tree.

Back on the ground, she looked around the area once more. Cautiously, she approached the still bodies of the rebels she and the other snipers had shot down. Standing above the first body, she observed it carefully. There had been increasing trouble in the region with rebels; something, no, _someone_ was stirring them up, telling them to rebel against the Chinese military force there.

The rebels had fought with guns today . . .

The Chinese military had raided all of the local villages and confiscated every gun they found, even going so far as to destroy villages in case they missed any weapons. The rebels were poor and there was no way they could afford to purchase more weapons.

But here they were. Armed and dangerous(not to mention dead).

Fang leaned down, picking up the assault rifle in the rebels hands. She turned it over a few times, examining with intense scrutiny, the design extremely familiar. She cocked her head to the side, looking at it from a different angle before pulling the stock up to her shoulder and holding it as any soldier would. She looked down the barrel and closed her left eye, focusing on the site at the end. Sighing, she held the rifle out in front of herself again.

The inscription on the barrel caught her eye.

She looked closer, scrutinizing what was written there. Then, she swore.

"Russians! Fucking Russians!"

Just one more reason Fang hated Russians.

**------------------------------------**

"How are the preparations going?"

"Fine, sir. All is going according to plan. We've supplied the Vietnamese with all the weapons they'll need to fight the Chinese. Once they've stirred up the Chinese, the plan will begin."

"Good. Are you sure that there's no way it can be traced back to us?"

"Yes. In an investigation, all fingers will point elsewhere. They'll never get a whiff of the fact that we organized it."

"Perfect. The blame _will_ fall squarely on _their_ shoulders, correct?"

"Of course, sir. I made absolutely sure of it."

"You do very good work, Isaak."

Isaak smiled. "Always, sir."

**------------------------------------**

"The Boss . . . and . . . The Sorrow . . . and I never . . ." Adamska trailed off. "Why?" he suddenly asked.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Why what?"

"Why did you tell me? When no one else did? To think . . . all that time I spent around The Boss and I never knew. Why didn't _she_ say something?"

"She didn't know."

Adamska stepped forward, anger in his every movement. He grabbed Jack with an extraordinary burst of strength and shoved him up against the wall. "What do you mean she didn't know? How could she not even know her own son?" he screamed as a rabid, animalistic emotion could be seen in his eyes.

"She gave birth to you on the beaches of Normandy, just like you were told. June sixth, 1944. The Philosopher's took you away from her and she never learned your fate."

Adamska growled. "Why didn't she try to find me then?" his grip on Jack's shoulders tightened.

"How am I supposed to know?"

His rage peaking, Adamska picked Jack up and threw him roughly to the floor before converging on him, punches colliding with anywhere and everywhere on Jack's body. "Why? Why did you have to tell me this?"

Jack winced. Not at the punches but at the outburst. If he had known Ocelot would respond in _this_ way, he wouldn't have said anything.

"All my life, I never knew my mother or father. And now . . . now, when they're both dead, I finally learn that I did know them." Adamska choked back tears as he threw another punch. "And not only did I know them, I despised them."

"What?" Jack caught both of Adamska's fists in his palms. "What do you mean?"

"The Cobra Unit. I hated them. All of them."

"Why?"

"Because they were trying to take away my prey."

"Your prey?"

"You, John. If they had killed you, I would never have got another chance to fight you."

Jack laughed. "Did you really believe they would kill me? I'd think someone who wanted to fight me so much would have a little faith in my abilities." He tightened his grip over Adamska's hands as Adamska struggled to free them.

He was beginning to calm down, Jack could see, but there was still that animalistic rage to be found in his eyes.

He really was like a cat . . . an ocelot. _"An ocelot never lets his prey escape."_

"The question still remains, John."

"Which one?" Jack bit down on his lip as the toe of Adamska's left boot pressed against his groin.

"Why did you tell me?"

"You have the right to know who your parents are. Everyone does."

Adamska stared at Jack for a moment before standing. Jack let go of his hands and sat up.

"You going to be — "

"Of course I am. Goodbye, John."

"Call me Jack."

Adamska picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor near the door and left.

Jack sighed. A guttural groan emanated from him as he assessed the damage Adamska had done to him. "Damn kid," he muttered, shaking his head.

**------------------------------------------------------------  
END CHAPTER 2**  
"_Spread your wings and fly!"_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Notes:**  
-Pay close attention to the names I choose for original characters.

-Ocelot has quite the temper, eh? But that's okay . . . he's just a confused little boy at heart and we all still love him anyway.

-If anyone guesses who Isaak was talking to, well, I will be extremely surprised and amazed at your prowess.

-Shorter than the last chapter, but you can't expect them all to be long. I didn't want to reveal _too_ much of the story in this chapter.

-Remember, I love reviews.

Next chapter: _Too pure for us Cobras._


	4. Too pure for us Cobras

**------------------------------------------------------------**  
In the Debris  
**CHAPTER 3**  
"_Too pure for us Cobras."_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**

"It's been too long, my old friend."

"It has. You look ill, Yevgeny. Catch something?"

Volgin snorted. "Only a lightning bolt."

"Always with your humor. Is there something you needed?"

"I wouldn't have called you up if there wasn't." Volgin glanced over his shoulder at Raikov who was idly twirling his long, blond hair around his index finger. Lowering his voice, Volgin continued. "A favor, Isaak. Money that belongs to me has recently fallen into the hands of one of your associate's associates."

Isaak smiled knowingly. "The Philosopher's Legacy. Do not worry; I will retrieve what Krushchev has gotten a hold of and hidden here in the Soviet Union."

"I do have a question for you, Isaak. The disc I gave The Boss was a fake. If she were to have handed it over to anyone, they would have found nothing. Only through a little investigating in recent withdrawals of the bank accounts the money had been kept in did I learn that it was no longer in my possession. . . . How could Krushchev have gotten a hold of the money?"

"From what I have learned," Isaak began, leaning back in his chair, "The Boss gave the fake to Tatyana who handed it over to the Chinese. Of the real disc, someone acquired it and half of the money was transferred to the United States. The other half remains here, under Krushchev's control."

"Is there any possible way for you to retrieve the half that the Americans have gained access to?"

"It's possible, but may take me awhile before I can find a way to do it. My contacts here in the Motherland are far greater than those in America."

Volgin nodded. "Keep me posted."

"Take care, Yevgeny, Ivan," Isaak smiled at the two before standing and heading for the door of Volgin and Raikov's temporary home in Northern Tselinoyarsk. They had decided to remain at the cabin for the time being, having fished out a phone and gotten it to work. Soon after, Volgin had begun making the necessary calls to the necessary people in order to investigate whether or not the Philosopher's Legacy still remained in his possession..

Raikov snuck up behind Volgin, wrapping his arms around his lovers neck. "What's next, Yevgeny?"

"There's a certain CIA agent I need to locate. . . ."

**------------------------------------**

Isaak smiled. He picked up a white chess piece, tied a small label to it and placed it on a chessboard. He grinned at his handiwork, at the non conventional game of chess he was playing.

Isaak commanded the white chess pieces and played the black pieces as if he were the opposing player. The white queen was labeled, aptly, Isaak, with the white king, Isaak's Legacy, beside it. Continuing down the line, the rooks were labeled "American Philosophers" and "Soviet Philosophers." "Volgin" and "Raikov," the two newest pieces to be placed on the board, were the knights. One castle had been labeled "Chinese Philosophers" while the other merely said, "Isaak's Cunning." The most abundant pieces of all, the pawns, were labeled Krushchev, Brezhnev, CIA, CIA Director, GRU, and KGB, with the GRU and KGB getting two pawns a piece.

On the side of the board that the black pieces called home, Isaak had carefully labeled each and every piece. The queen was the CIA Director; the king, the American Philosophers; the rooks, Krushchev and Brezhnev(it humored Isaak that the American Philosophers truly believed the two Russian men were squarely in their pocket); the knights, Ocelot and Isaak(how foolish those Americans were, to believe that he was on _their_ side, rather than his own); the castles, the GRU and KGB(_Far from a defensive force toward to the United States, _Isaak had mused); and the pawns, the president of the United States(_Oblivious to everything, the idiot_), the American populace with six pawns and the last piece to have been placed upon the black side, Jack, of the newly formed FOX unit.

Isaak picked up Jack's pawn, his grin widening. "This will be quite fun, you know," he said, placing the piece back down on the board, "I've always loved chess."

He pushed Jack's pawn forward one space.

**------------------------------------**

"Great to see you again, Jack," Major Zero stuck out his hand to Jack as the sullen FOX operative entered the room. Jack's hands remained at his sides as he stood before the Major.

"Still a little bitter, I see," Zero murmured, averting his eyes from Jack's cold stare. "We were all under orders, Jack. It can't be helped of what you had to do. Truly, I'm sorry."

Jack walked to the table in the middle of the room and picked up the mission dossier.

Zero padded to the opposite side of the table. "As you can see, FOX's first official mission will be sending you deep into hostile North Vietnam territory."

Jack turned to the second page of the dossier. "Why North Vietnam? Haven't the Chinese warned America and the Soviet Union that North Vietnam is under their control?"

Zero nodded. "Yes, but according to our reliable sources in the Soviet Union, someone is supplying the North Vietnamese and South Vietnamese with weapons. The South Vietnamese are rebelling against the Chinese who have crossed the DMZ and the North Vietnamese are attacking the South in response."

"And we think that whoever is supplying the weapons is ultimately attempting to instigate a war between China, North Vietnam and South Vietnam? Something along the lines of craftily steering North and South Vietnam's attention to China, rather than having the two countries continue to fight with one another?"

"It seems so. Setting up China, as such. How did you guess?"

"It seems like something the Soviets would do."

"Ah, yes. Very Soviet-like, indeed."

"Back on topic, Major. . . . The war would become less of a war between North and South Vietnam and more of a ruse to start a war between the Vietnam's and China."

"Interesting, isn't it?"

"To what advantage, though?"

Zero smiled. "Page five, Jack."

"Mission objectives. . . . Successfully infiltrate hostile territory. Find out who is supplying rebellion force with weapons. Locate Soviet spy south of extraction point, codename: YITZHAK. Escort to extraction point and bring back to the United States. . . . This 'Yitzhak' . . . is he our 'reliable' source in the Soviet Union?"

"He just happens to be."

"That still doesn't explain what advantage whoever within the Soviet government wishes to gain from instigating such a war."

"That's just something you'll have to find out, now isn't it, Jack? Our current speculations are that if North and South Vietnam go to war with China, the Soviet Union will ally with the two countries and they will attempt to overtake China together."

"A return to imperialism. The Soviet Union and Vietnam will split China's land after the war and it won't be long before the Soviet Union goes after Vietnam. Other countries will become involved and another world war will break out."

"Exactly."

Jack flipped to the last page, it detailing the specifications of the mission. "Sneaking mission. Don't alert anyone to my presence . . . keep it discreet. Contact via Codec . . . pretty standard stuff, huh?" he continued down the page, noting the pictures and descriptions of the area he would be infiltrating. "Back to the jungle?"

"Yes, unfortunately enough."

"For me."

Zero stifled a cough. "For you, yes. I can understand how the jungle may not be your preferred environment to work in but we are . . ."

". . . under orders, I know. Who's going to be on my support team?"

"Para-Medic and Sigint are both accompanying me as radio support. Along with them, Yitzhak will be keeping in touch soon after you land."

Jack flipped through the dossier again. "Land?" he questioned unenthusiastically.

"Another HALO jump is planned to insert you."

Snorting, Jack grunted, "Why don't we just slap 'Virtuous Mission' on top of the dossier and call it a night? Any chance I'll be running into a nuclear scientist being hunted by the GRU and guarded by the KGB? Any spies named 'ADAM' or 'EVA' for me to meet at a run-down research facility? Electrically-charged supermen? A fucking impenetrable fortress guarding a new nuclear weapon? A phantom Cobra Unit? The largest conspiracy to _ever_ come out of fucking Washington in which the _objective_ was to kill one of the government's most loyal soldiers, all to recover a fucking _legacy_ that an electrically-charged fucking _madman_ legally inherited from a man who _illegally_ obtained it?" Jack threw the dossier to the table, glaring at the Major.

"Jack, I—"

"Don't even start, _Major_." Jack turned around and headed for the door.

"Oh-four hundred tomorrow, Jack. Be ready," said Zero as Jack left the room. The Major wiped sweat from his forehead. Jack's bitterness seemed to be worsening as the days progressed and FOX's first official mission wasn't helping.

_It is strange,_ thought the Major, _of how similar the Virtuous and Snake Eater missions are to this one . . . HALO jump, jungle, rendezvous with Soviet spy and who knows how many other similarities Jack, or, should I say, "Naked Snake", will uncover as the mission progresses._

"_The largest conspiracy to _ever_ come out of fucking Washington in which the _objective_ was to kill one of the government's most loyal soldiers, all to recover a fucking _legacy_ that an electrically-charged fucking _madman_ legally inherited from a man who _illegally _obtained it."_ What was he talking about? The Boss had defected to the Soviet Union and Jack had killed her . . . what did Jack know that he, the Major, did not?

Major Zero sighed and picked up the dossier. No use worrying about it now; not on the eve of FOX's first mission as an official, clandestine CIA unit.

**------------------------------------**

Jack lay back on the bed in his private quarters at the newly established "FOX Headquarters" stationed outside of Langley. His bag sat nearby, half-packed, with the "Moss" camouflage hanging out of it. An M1911A1 .45 caliber handgun equipped with a suppressor was haphazardly placed atop the camouflage. Five more hours. Five more hours to finish packing and catch a little sleep.

He was being sent on this mission with less than he'd had at the start of the Virtuous and Snake Eater missions. His M1911A1, a Mk22, stun grenades and his combat knife comprised his entire arsenal. Jack lifted the Single Action Army Revolver into the air and stared at it in the light before smiling. He'd be sneaking that little gem along as well. In addition, he was going to be equipped with binoculars, a camera, and the fake death pill. Anything else he may need was procure on-site.

The camouflage he was to bring had been handpicked by Sigint. The best camouflage to blend in with the geography of northern Vietnam, he'd said. Jack sat up and swung his feet off the side of the bed. He reached down and continued to arrange the gear in his pack, so as to make it the most space efficient.

There was a knock at the door. "Jack," Para-Medic's voice rang out.

Jack continued packing. "What is it?" he growled while disassembling his revolver.

"Can I come in?"

He lifted his pack up, testing its weight. "Why?"

Para-Medic sighed, irritation arising within her over Jack's tone. "For your check-up, Jack."

"It's open."

The door silently swung in and Para-Medic stepped over the threshold. "All of your medical supplies packed? We wouldn't want you getting hurt with no way to treat the injury."

Big Boss didn't reply. He slowly stood and turned to face the brunette. Para-Medic made her way around the bed and examined Jack's exposed chest, the injuries from almost two weeks ago nearly healed.

"Take off your pants."

Smirking, Jack slowly undid his belt. "What? Going to strip search me for contraband?"

Para-Medic laughed and shook her head. She ran her fingers over fresh bandages wrapped around Jack's right thigh. He stiffened in pain, inwardly groaning.

"It's still swollen. . . . Jack — "

"I'm fine, Para-Medic."

A skeptical look crossed Para-Medic's face, but passed almost as soon as it had come. "If you say so, Jack." She stood and smiled. "All done. You're good to go."

"Thanks," he muttered, pulling his pants back up as Para-Medic left the room.

**------------------------------------**

"We'll be reaching the drop point in ten minutes. Put your mask on," commanded the co-pilot of the plane.

Snake grabbed the mask on the seat beside him and slipped it on.

"Depressurization complete. Checking oxygen supply. Opening rear hatch. External temperature minus . . ." the co-pilot continued the final check of the equipment and the drop conditions while Jack stood.

"One minute to drop off. Move to the rear."

Jack slowly walked to the rear of the plane where the hatch was hanging open, showing the fresh morning light of the sky.

"Ten seconds to drop off. Standby. . . . Status okay, all green. Prepare for drop off. . . . Countdown, five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one."

In synchronization with the co-pilot's countdown to one, Naked Snake jumped from the rear hatch and began plummeting to the ground.

"Snake, I've just received a new mission objective from the CIA."

Snake recalled Ocelot's warning as the Major talked. _"The FOX unit is under CIA control. You are at the CIA's disposal, just as I am. If I know the Director, he will use you and everyone else within FOX to help track down the Legacy."_

"Originally, we were going to advise you to steer clear of the base hidden south of your drop point, opting for you to head for the one to the north of the extraction point, but now it seems the CIA would rather you infiltrate the highly guarded base hidden somewhere in the woods near where you will be landing. Investigate and infiltrate the base, Snake and find information on your primary objective."

"Find out who is supplying the rebellion force with weapons?"

"Exactly." Zero signed off and Snake checked his altitude on an altimeter strapped to his suit. He reached back, grasped the cord to open the parachute and pulled it.

**---**

Snake looked around. He spotted what he was searching for immediately: a tree nearby with a hole large enough to hide his parachute and discarded free-fall suit. Carefully folding the parachute and the suit, he stuffed them inside the tree.

"Major," Snake said, pressing the send button on his codec, "I've successfully infiltrated the enemy territory."

"Is the drop point secure?"

Snake peaked around the tree he had hidden the parachute and free-fall suit in. Seeing no immediate threats, he bent down and pulled out his binoculars, scanning the area. "Nothing," he said after a moment. "It's all . . . wait."

He focused the binoculars on some movement, one hundred yards to the northwest of his position. "Looks like . . . two, no, three enemy soldiers heading this way." Snake quickly returned the binoculars to his pack and slipped around to the other side of the tree, where bushes obscured him from view.

As the soldiers approached, Snake picked up snatches of their conversation, which seemed to be spoken in a strange mixture of Vietnamese and Russian, as if one or two of them were fluent in either language, but picking up the other. Snake spoke fluent Russian. Vietnamese, on the other hand, was not a language he had studied too far into. A problematic situation; any important information that the three soldiers had to say and that was spoken in any Vietnamese Snake did not recognize would be lost to him.

The soldiers passed the tree.

"Comrade, don't let the others fool you. As long as the Chinese continue to," here, the obviously Russian soldier stopped and considered his next words carefully, about to switch from Russian to Vietnamese. Spoken in Vietnamese, Snake understood the word "threat" and used what he knew of the situation to fill in the blanks. ". . . the Soviet Union will not . . ." the Russian spoke a few more words in Vietnamese before one of the other soldiers began speaking in slow, broken Russian.

"Your Vietnamese . . . it improving."

The Russian laughed and responded in the country's native tongue. Apparently, his speech was nearly flawless as the two Vietnamese soldiers nodded their heads in approval and congratulated him in Russian.

The three soldiers continued through the woods, walking along a beaten path that twisted and curved around the trees. The conversation faded out as Snake waited until he could no longer see the soldiers walking through the forest. He pressed a finger to his codec once they were gone.

"Major, two Vietnamese and a Russian soldier just passed my location. Where do you think they're headed?"

"The military base is to your south, Snake. To your north is a steep cliff and near there is your extraction point."

Snake stood and quietly slipped through the woods, indiscreetly following the soldiers. "They're headed toward the base. I'm going to follow them and see if I can get one of them alone, preferably the Russian, so we can have a little chat."

"Good luck, Snake."

"Oh, and Major . . ." Snake pressed against a tree and peeked around the corner in a feeble attempt to see through the darkness of the forest.

"Yes, Snake?"

"The next time you send me to a foreign country, make sure I know the native language."

Zero laughed. "I apologize. The mission orders came so suddenly there wasn't much time to prep you." The Major signed off and Snake looked deeper into the forest.

Any sunlight to be seen at this time of the day was blocked out by the thick canopy formed by the trees. The darkness was stifling. Every little sound seemingly magnified in the bleak environment. The short breezes that periodically blew threw the trees spread open the canopies on occasion and a thin stream of sunlight would shine through, illuminating the ground beneath it. It was the perfect place to hide a rebel military base. Dark, quiet, discreet and out of the way. No wonder the South Vietnamese hadn't found it and taken it over by now.

With no night vision goggles, Snake would be relying on his hearing to locate the soldiers; it was much too dark to try and discern which movements belonged to them and which belonged to an animal. He took a quick look at the area he was heading into and considered which camouflage would blend in better before deciding what he was currently wearing would do for the moment. Removing his .45 from its holster, Snake stealthily moved forward, ducking behind trees and bushes as he went along and keeping in the darkest areas of the forest.

Snake traveled at a steady pace and remained a safe distance from the trail, keeping an eye out for the three soldiers. Within minutes he heard voices; five different voices, three of which he recognized as the soldiers he was tracking.

A Russian voice spoke in clearly accented Vietnamese. Quickly, another voice responded in agitated Russian.

"What is this, comrade?"

"Standard procedure, _comrade_," replied the first voice cooly. "Now please, allow me to continue."

The second voice snapped back. "I don't trust the look in your eyes. You're going to set me up, aren't you? Plant some contraband on me and have me executed for dishonorable conduct!"

Snake silently dropped to the ground and crawled forward until he spotted the source of the voices. Two Russian soldiers were blocking the path of the three soldiers Snake was following. A checkpoint, Snake deducted, watching as the two Russian guards patted down the three soldiers, searching for contraband, among other things. The first guard and the Russian soldier continued to bicker in their native tongue.

"Completely unnecessary, comrade. What reason do I have to sneak in items that have been banned at the base?"

"I would not know. I am not you and do not know your reasons for doing anything. For all I know, you could be secretly working for the South Vietnamese, against the Motherland and your Russian comrades."

"Privinchtye vas, _kamrada_. I would never defy the Motherland."

The guard stepped back from the soldier and laughed. "Of course not. Well, you're all clean. Continue on." The three soldiers left down the path without another word to the checkpoint guards.

Snake analyzed the situation carefully. He could continue to follow the three soldiers, bypassing the checkpoints by moving through the woods but that was much too easy. The simplicity of being able to maneuver around each checkpoint was suspicious. Snake frowned and peered into the forest canopy.

He spotted what he was looking for. Multiple traps were rigged just beyond the first checkpoint. The darkness prohibited him from spotting any traps other than the ones rigged into the trees. It would be too dangerous to continue traveling through the forest.

Something would have to give. He couldn't go any further unless he was able to isolate one of the checkpoint guards.

"Ah, I need to piss. Keep an eye out," came the voice of the first checkpoint guard.

The second guard laughed. "Watch out for traps. I don't feel like cutting you down again."

"I'm more worried about a pitfall. Death by metal stakes through the chest is not exactly . . . comforting."

"Understandably."

The first guard carefully moved from the trail and into the woods. Snake watched from the shadow of a tree as the guard walked a few meters past him. The unmistakable sound of urine falling to the ground gave Snake his cue. He stalked the few meters between them, removing his knife from its scabbard and silently stood, wrapping his arm around the guard's neck and placing the knife to his throat.

The guard let out a groan. "I couldn't have just set off a trap. No, instead, I get killed by a mysterious soldier from an unknown government."

Snake quietly laughed. "Keep it down, finish up and then we're going to have a little chat. That all right with you?"

"Of course, Mystery Man. Just, eh, don't kill me. Please. I'm just a checkpoint guard. Not worth your time, da?"

"Da, Mr. Checkpoint Guard." Snake slid his right arm farther around the guard's neck and removed his left. As the guard finished urinating, Snake confiscated all of the weapons on the guard within his reach.

"How many more checkpoints are there?"

"Two after this one."

"Only two?" Snake placed his left arm back into its former position and pressed the blade of his knife more firmly against the guard's neck.

"Da. Only two."

"Who is exempt from the checkpoint searches?"

"High ranking officers and anyone with a special pass."

"Special pass?"

"Given to certain people, usually those not within the army. Scientists, diplomats, lower ranking officers. You get the picture."

"Where can I get one?"

The guard gulped. "I have one, sir."

Snake smiled. "Good. What else can you tell me?"

"A GRU colonel passed through here earlier, on his way to the military base. We let him pass without any questions . . . his presence was very ominous."

"The GRU . . ." Snake murmured, committing the information to memory.

"Oh! Da, I almost forgot . . . there is a meeting tonight between the North Vietnamese officer in charge of the base and one or two Soviet generals. I'm not sure what it is about."

"That's okay. You've been very helpful."

"You . . . you won't kill me?"

"No. You're just going to take a little nap and when you wake up, you'll stay in this very spot until I come by again later."

"But, the animals—"

"Will not bother you. I'll make sure of it." Snake pulled the knife away and proceeded to cut off the guard's oxygen supply, just long enough to knock him out.

It was lucky, Snake mused a few minutes later after he had dressed himself in the guard's uniform and hidden the unconscious body, that he and the guard were very similar in body composition. Snake was also confident he could accurately imitate the Russian's speech and tone with ease. The biggest problem he faced was the fact that he knew virtually nothing about the Russian guard, other than the information printed on his dog tag.

"Konsolikov! What is taking you so long?"

Snake stiffened at the sound of the second Russian's voice and the rustling of underbrush as the guard headed into the woods. Quickly, Snake found a snare trap and purposely set it off, the rope whipping up and wrapping around his ankle, lifting him into the air. He swore loudly in Russian to attract the attention of the other guard.

"You idiot!" the guard approached Snake and fumbled around his belt, looking for his knife. "You're lucky I don't want to man the checkpoint alone or I'd leave you up there all night."

"My apologies, comrade. I thought I saw something." Snake anxiously awaited a suspicious outburst from the other guard, he having detected a flaw in Snake's speech.

None came. Snake propelled himself up as far as he could and latched onto his knees. The guard cut the rope and laughed as Snake landed hard on his back, groaning in pain.

"That will teach you, Konsolikov."

Snake looked up at the guard. A thin ray of light shone through the thick canopy and illuminated the guard's name patch.

"It will never happen again, Yekevsky."

"That's what you said the last time." Yekevsky held out his hand and Snake grabbed it, the Russian guard pulling him up. Snake followed Yekevsky back to the trail, careful to step in the same places Yekevsky did, to avoid any traps lurking about. Yekevsky leaned against a tree on the other side of the trail and sighed. Snake observed the Russian quietly while leaning against his own tree. He had to think of something that would allow him to head to the base without causing suspicion . . .

Knocking out Yekevsky was always an option, but Snake didn't know how long he'd be here. Yekevsky could wake up before he was through with his business at the base and blow his cover. He would need another lucky break or a foolproof idea . . .

Snake and Yekevsky's radio's crackled to life. "All units, I repeat, all units return to the base immediately," came the voice of an officer, first in Russian, then in Vietnamese. Yekevsky shrugged and headed down the trail, Snake tailing along behind him.

"What do you think this is all about, Konosolikov?" Yekevsky questioned, turning his head to look at Snake.

Snake gave a half-hearted shrug. "I wouldn't know, comrade."

"I guess we will find out, won't we?"

Snake nodded and the two continued on.

**---**

The base was nothing short of impressive. High concrete walls surrounded by triple sets of barbed wire and electric fencing, it covered at least a quarter mile of the surrounding area. Vines grew up the sides of the base and the dense surrounding of trees kept it from ones view until the sprawling base was right in front of your eyes. The thick canopy blocked out all sunlight and prevented the base from being spotted by any planes happening to fly over the area.

A multitude of guards stood before the entrance, checking the ID's and passes of each soldier and checkpoint guard passing through, to ensure that no one snuck in who wasn't supposed to be there. It was a surprisingly simple task for Snake to enter the impenetrable fortress. He pulled out the pass that the real Konsolikov had told him about, showed it to the guard blocking his path and was allowed entrance.

Scores of buildings lined the inside of the base. Near the right front were the officer's quarters and command rooms. Near the right rear were the soldiers and guards barracks. On the left side were store houses stocked with supplies ranging from food to ammunition, as well as a research lab where Russian and Vietnamese scientists were diligently working on prototype weapons to use against the enemy forces. A large mess hall had been erected in the middle of the base and behind it were parked all kinds of military vehicles that looked as if they hadn't been used in quite a long time.

Yekevsky slapped Snake good-heartedly on the back. "Nothing to worry about, Konsolikov. The Major says there were reports of South Vietnamese in the area, so he issued an order for everyone to return to the base . . . we can't afford to lose anymore men. This facility is too important, you know."

Pulling off the black balaclava covering his head, Yekevsky nodded to the mess hall. "Some food, comrade?"

Panic began to bubble within Snake. _Don't panic. You panic, you'll make mistakes,_ he thought to himself, a plan already taking shape in his mind. If he went to the mess hall to eat, he'd have to take off his balaclava. If he took off his balaclava, the noticeable differences between himself and Konsolikov would become obvious. Luck had been on his side thus far, as he and Konsolikov shared the same eye color. Even luckier still Snake had been to discover that Konsolikov's right eye was damaged, just as Snake's own. All it took was for Snake to remove his eye patch and he and Konsolikov were nearly identical in that particular area of the face. However, beyond that, nothing was the same. Snake's hair was a light brown, growing a little long while Konsolikov's was as black as the night sky and shaved.

"My apologies. I have business to attend to elsewhere." As Snake made his way to the barracks, Yekevksy shouted after him.

"I hope those books you read are edible! You spend much too long reading them!"

Snake disappeared behind a building and pulled off his balaclava. It was stifling beneath it and sweat had drenched his hair, perspiration forming rivulets across his face. How these soldiers could stand to wear such warm, insulated battle dress uniforms in the middle of the hot and humid Vietnamese wilderness, Snake didn't know.

Exhaling, Snake considered his options. Of his four mission objectives, he'd completed two of them: infiltrate hostile North Vietnam territory and infiltrate the army base south of the drop point. All that remained to be done was to find out exactly who within the Soviet Union was supplying the Vietnamese with weapons and to escort Yitzhak to the extraction point.

"You must be Snake."

Snake whirled to his left, pulling his knife from its scabbard and dropping into a CQC stance.

A figure stepped forward. "Please, please. Don't be alarmed. I am Yitzhak."

Snake eyed Yitzhak curiously. He was tall, just barely taller than Snake, and clad in dark camouflage. His hair was pitch black, long bangs messily lying atop his forehead while the rest of his hair had been shaved to a peach fuzz. Gray eyes stared into Snake's blue-green ones.

"Weren't you supposed to contact me after I landed?"

"I apologize. I could not get away to contact you in private."

"You still going to help me, then?"

A smile played at Yitzhak's lips. "If you require it."

Snake returned his knife to its proper place and stood. "I do."

"Come with me. We must avoid prying ears and eyes."

Snake obediently followed Yitzhak to a small building set off from the rest. "We may talk in here," Yitzhak said, nodding at the building. The two entered quickly and quietly, Yitzhak locking the door was they were both inside.

A weathered table and two chairs sat in the middle of the one-roomed building. Each man took a chair, sitting across from one another at the table-that-had-seen-better-days.

"There is an important meeting tonight . . . between the North Vietnamese general of this base, a Soviet general from the base to the north and a GRU colonel sent by Brezhnev. I am not sure what the meeting will entail . . . but the fruits we may learn from it will make your precious CIA very happy."

"How long have you been stationed here?"

"A few weeks."

"Do you know who is supplying the Vietnamese with weapons, then?"

"A higher-up within the GRU. That is all I know."

Snake frowned. "This meeting . . . what are the names of the men attending?"

"General Dao Ling, of this base; General Aleksei Koyechev, of the base to the north; and Colonel Yevgeny Volgin, of whom Brezhnev sent."

It took Snake exactly ten seconds to register the impossible words that Yitzhak had spoken. "Yevgeny Volgin? But . . . that's not . . . possible. He died."

"Apparently not, but perhaps it is not the same man. How would you describe the Yevgeny Volgin that you knew?"

"Electrified."

Yitzhak paled. "Unless there are two Yevgeny Volgin's in the world and each is harboring ten million volts within their bodies, I'm afraid it is the same man."

"How could he still be alive? He was fried! I saw it with my very eyes! Er, eye. . . ."

"Speaking of your eye . . . is it . . . always like that?"

Snake laughed and removed his eyepatch from the pocket he had placed it in for safekeeping after taking it off. He slipped it on and Yitzhak breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thank you. It was beginning to disturb me."

"My apologies, Yitzhak."

"Back to our ponderous problem. Colonel Volgin was definitely . . . fried, for lack of a better word. He is quite burnt, charred in a few places, even. Something supernatural must have happened that day for him to have survived."

"Maybe the electricity in his body jump started his heart after he was struck by the lightning bolt. Kind of like a life-saving mechanism."

"It's plausible. For now, we should not worry about the complexities of how he is still alive. Instead, we should be going over my plan of how we will eavesdrop on the meeting."

"You know, Yitzhak," said Snake, leaning back in his chair, "I'm really starting to like you. You're the kind of guy I can get along with."

Yitzhak chuckled. "Please. Do not flatter me . . . on forth and on with, I say. There are many things we have yet to do and the explanation of my plan is only one of them."

**------------------------------------------------------------  
END CHAPTER 3**  
"_Too pure for us Cobras."_  
**------------------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Notes:**  
-Lots of research went into this chapter. Mostly about the Vietnam War and the geography of Vietnam.

-A bitter Snake is better than a battered Snake in butter.

. . . er, pretend you didn't hear that. Or maybe try saying that five times fast.

Yes, Snake is still very bitter with the rest of the FOX unit and that's to be expected.

-Para-Medic and Sigint will make a larger appearance next chapter.

-IT"S A VERY LONG CHAPTER. Longest yet. I was hoping for twenty pages, but I drew the line at sixteen because it was a good place to stop.

-The title of this chapter, "Too pure for us Cobras", is one of those titles that has just about nothing to do with what's within the chapter. Next chapter's title may or may not be relevant, so don't count on the name of the chapter as a good indication as to what's in store.

-Isaak's character is so convoluted and mysterious it's not even funny.

-While writing this, I got myself confused trying to keep sense of the plot line and what all the Soviet Union is planning. Just goes to show that things are going to get even stranger and more complicated as time goes on. (Though there really hasn't been anything all too strange as of yet. A little complicated at some points, in my opinion and especially if you're writing and are getting lost in all of the information.)

-Two words: SOVIET HOMOELECTROSEX.

. . . okay, so there hasn't been any of that(implied, but nothing actually depicted) and probably never will be, but it's still fun to say.

-If anyone knows where I can find a free online translator that will translate English text into romanized Russian, please let me know.

-Just as some extra little information, this chapter is over six thousand words long. Isn't that just nifty? Six thousand words and sixteen pages(seventeen if you count these author's notes).

-Every time you don't review, God kills a fluffy, adorable kitten.

**Next chapter:** _"Who's afraid of a little thunder?"_


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